


spider popsicle

by iron_spider



Series: whumptober 2019 [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hypothermia, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 13:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider
Summary: Peter hugs his knees to his chest. He doesn’t wanna die, he doesn’t wanna die, he doesn’t wanna leave them. But he closes his eyes anyway.Next thing he knows, the door is slamming open.“Jesus Christ. Jesus.”Peter can barely think. Can’t move. His eyes are closed and he can’t open them, and everything is churning in slow motion, like he’s floating underwater.“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, kid. I’m here, I’m here.”





	spider popsicle

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the whumptober prompt 'trembling'!

The cold is so cold that it burns, all over him. Peter doesn’t know how long it’s been anymore, he can’t remember details of the asshole’s face who took his suit and put him here, he can barely remember his own name. The freezer is winter wonderland. Winter nightmare. Carcasses hanging up and swinging like bodies on the gallows. That’ll be him soon. A plaster mold of what he once was.

There’s ice on his eyebrows. Out of his nostrils. Covering his ears. Sweeping through the wrinkles in his brain.

He knows Steve is here too. They took them both. The taller man stripped off Peter’s suit when he realized he had a heater, and he’s been in his boxers ever since. Worse. Way worse. He was worried about his identity in the beginning, but now, he’s just worried about the state he’ll be in when they find his body.

He doesn’t wanna die. He can’t break the door, he can’t, he tried when he could still move, he kicked and screamed and tried to tear the walls apart. Now he’s wasting away, faces hovering in his mind. May, Tony, Ned, MJ. He falls into memories that are only half real, the five of them in his apartment—eating dinner, playing video games, Tony doing card tricks, MJ giving him shit when an ace falls out of his sleeve. Ned is good at charades. May gives up after Tony guesses Bill Clinton for Amy Winehouse. Peter can’t stop laughing.

A tear freezes on his cheek.

The amount of love he has in his heart threatens to burst out of him, and why hasn’t Steve escaped yet, why hasn’t he escaped, why the hell can whoever these people are hold both Spider-Man and Captain America without a peep from either one of them?

Peter hugs his knees to his chest. He doesn’t wanna die, he doesn’t wanna die, he doesn’t wanna leave them. But he closes his eyes anyway.

Next thing he knows, the door is slamming open.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus.”

Peter can barely think. Can’t move. His eyes are closed and he can’t open them, and everything is churning in slow motion, like he’s floating underwater. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, kid. I’m here, I’m here.”

Tony.

Peter feels his hands on him, pulling him to his feet, and he falls into darkness with the shock of the movement. Then there’s more hands on him, more people, talking, and they’re pulling his suit back on. Then there’s heat, beautiful and rushing and all encompassing.

Peter starts shivering.

“I’ve got you,” Tony’s voice says. They’re walking now, and Peter can’t feel his own legs moving but he knows they are, and Tony pulls him closer, plasters him against his chest, and Peter tucks his head under Tony’s chin. He tries to feed off his warmth.

It feels like the gears in his head are starting to turn again, slowly, surely, busting out of their imposed immobilization, and Tony has never held him this tight.

“Steve,” Peter mutters, in a weak, pathetic croak.

“We’ve got him,” Tony says. “Don’t worry.”

Peter…_hurts_. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and he wishes they would stop moving, he needs to crash, he needs...God, even with the heater, he’s still so _cold_. He can feel it more now than he could before. He’s an ice sculpture. He shakes and his teeth clatter.

“We’re almost there, bud, I promise,” Tony says, squeezing his shoulder, and they start moving a little faster.

Peter groans.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, with such concern and kindness that it provides its own sort of warmth.

“Me too,” Peter says, because his knees are about to buckle. They do, and Tony catches him. Peter falls into darkness again.

When he opens his eyes he’s sitting. Tony is still holding him, rubbing his arms up and down fast, generating heat. Peter can feel the extra layers now—his suit, a sweater, a jacket, a weighted blanket. He can feel fuzzy socks. He’s tucked up underneath Tony’s chin again, and he’s still trembling. More now, that he’s awake and aware. 

“Sorry,” Peter mutters. “Embarrassing.”

“Stop,” Tony says. “No apologies.”

“Spider popsicle,” Peter says, his teeth still chattering as he tries to speak.

Tony snorts, ruffling his hair. “You need earmuffs too. Ears are freezing.”

Peter doesn’t disagree because every part of him is freezing and he can’t stop trembling, despite the layers they’ve heaped upon him. Tony keeps rubbing his arms, and Peter closes his eyes, thawing out. “Where—are we?” he says, still sounding half drunk. 

“Quinjet,” Tony says. “Those assholes were freezing you to death and trying to give Steve heatstroke. Apparently they had more experiments planned, fuckers.” 

Peter sighs. “Should have—gotten away,” he says, closing his eyes. “Ambushed us.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Tony rubs his back, readjusting the blanket around him. He tugs the sweater up higher around Peter’s neck.

Peter glances up when a door opens. Clint and Natasha come in, and both of them seem exhausted.

“Looking like a real dad over there,” Clint says. “Reminds me of when my oldest fell into the goddamn lake.” 

Tony sighs heavily but doesn’t balk against the dad comment.

“How’s—Cap?” Peter asks, shaking and shaking and shaking. 

“Opposite of you,” Natasha says. “We’ve got him in a bucket of ice with about four fans pointed at him. Bucky and Sam are with him now.”

Peter doesn’t know what’s worse, but at least this way, he gets hugs. Tony is usually a special occasion type of hugger, so this is a particular kind of event. Peter wonders if he’d be like this with anybody else on the team. He knows he would be with Pepper, Happy or Rhodey. Peter wonders if he’s on the same level as them. No, he could never be. But he and Tony have been through a lot together. The end of the world and back. And Peter’s still...a kid. Maybe that’s why Tony is so concerned. Nobody wants a teenager to freeze to death.

God he’s so cold.

“I was—thinking about dying,” Peter says, low enough so only Tony can hear him. “It got—so bad and I just—”

“Shh, kid,” Tony says, softly. “You know you’re not allowed to die. We wrote up a contract, we both signed it. In red ink. It is filed and copied in my office.”

Peter snorts. He wonders how long he’s gonna be this cold. He thinks about that time he and MJ got too deep into a Wikipedia hole about Mt. Everest. All those weird dead bodies up there, forever frozen in the last place they dropped. That’s what the freezer felt like. Everest.

“Sorry it took so damn long,” Tony says, rubbing his arms again. “Took forever to find you two. Those assholes really covered their tracks.”

“Does—May know?”

“Yup, she’s with Pep at the compound. How you feeling? Still spider popsicle?”

“Mhm.” It’s only a little bit better. Like he’s slowly...slowly...slowly...getting the feeling back in his body. His _gums_ feel cold. The roots in his teeth. “You know they—actually do have, uh—Spider-Man ice cream.”

“I know,” Tony says. His voice rumbles through Peter’s ear. “You texted me about it last week.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter says. He thinks this is the first time in his life that he doesn’t want ice cream. 

“Think about when we ate those ghost peppers,” Tony says.

Peter grimaces. A terrible decision. His mouth was on fire. Tony was crying.

“Or that time the air conditioning went out in the tower.”

“Ugh, the—worst,” Peter says. 

“Or any New York summer.”

Maybe it’s working a little bit, and Peter trembles slightly less. “Can we—play charades?” he asks.

“Right now?” Tony asks. “I don’t think you’d do too well.”

“No, after—when I—when things are—normal.” 

“Yes,” Tony says. “Whatever you want, bud.”

Peter closes his eyes, and he’s glad he’s not dead. He’s glad that whenever this kind of shit happens, Tony’ll find him, no matter what. Peter just hopes Steve is okay.

His heightened senses are coming back, and he hears Natasha whisper to Clint.

“_That kid has Tony wrapped around his little finger._”


End file.
